


CSI: Blurred

by fhsa_archivist



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-11
Updated: 2006-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: The line between sanity and chaos is easily blurred.





	CSI: Blurred

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers For: Stalker, Boom, You’ve Got Male, Chasing the Bus, Bully for You  
  
Author’s Note: Since we were only introduced to Nick’s prom date from high school as “Horndog”� (her screenname) in Stalker, I invented a name for her. Laura. Don’t like it? Too bad. I’m not going to call her Horndog.  
  
A/N 2: For the readers not familiar with IAFIS, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System is a technological tool used to match fingerprints recovered at a crime scene with fingerprints on record.  
More about post-traumatic stress disorder; and some gambling statistics.  


* * *

_And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah you bleed just know you’re alive._

_And I don’t want the world to see me_

_Cause I don’t think that they’d understand_

_When everything’s made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am._

_Iris - Goo Goo Dolls_

 

***

 

Grissom called him into the office to express his understanding and tell Nick that he could take as much time as he needed.

 

“Thanks, Gris, but I’m all set.” Nick’s stomach churned when Grissom just nodded and returned to his science journal. It was all a show anyway. He had no idea. “I’ll get back to work.”

 

“It’ll work out, Nick.” Saying this with his eyes on the article. Nick felt like puking. Thanks for nothing, Gris. You’re a real understanding guy. He had to stop himself from slamming the door. He pictured the glass breaking. Bringing up his foot and just kicking it through the glass, jagged cracks like melting ice.

 

But he carefully pushed the door closed, until he heard the click. And that was all for now. Freaks spied on him from holes in the ceilings and the people he thought were his friends looked away, pretended to care.

 

They looked away but he knew they’d been staring. Wondering what he was going through, the smart ones grateful that they had no clue. They all tried to help in ways that seemed bizarre to Nick. Catherine’s sympathetic glances covered up by her business demeanor, Sara’s soft-spoken words, Greg’s uncharacteristic silence around him. The banter was gone. The half-smiles when they joked to relieve the tension of seeing dead bodies and warped minds at work every day, that was gone too. Now everyone shut up when he entered the room. Didn’t matter if they’d been talking about him, they couldn’t start the conversation until they asked how he was.

 

I’m great. I love living in a house with labeled peepholes in each room where a creepy guy I’ve never met except when he came to install cable watches everything I do. And it’s still real because I can still feel him watching me, even though I know he’s in jail. So yeah, I’m just fine, and your concern really makes me feel better. Because reminding me about it every time I enter a room helps.

 

Warrick was the only person who came close to acting in an understanding way. That didn’t mean he understood, but Nick didn’t expect that from anyone. But Warrick didn’t try to act like he had any idea what Nick was going through right now. Glances were solemn when they passed each other in the hallways, conversations nonexistent when they got assigned to a case together. Because words wouldn’t solve anything until Nick was ready to talk about it, and Warrick wasn’t going to make it worse by making him talk before he was ready. The invitation was always there, the offer to listen, or talk, in his eyes, the silent understanding that passes between friends.

 

When Nick couldn’t take it anymore he moved out. Only the department knew, because they took care of his “alternative housing”, because a CSI can’t do his job if he has distractions like a psychotic murderer on his mind or in his house. Of course they offered counseling but Nick refused each time. This was something he had to get through on his own.

 

Moving out helped a little. He couldn’t stop looking up at ceilings and in vents, looking for places he could be spied on from. It really wasn’t much comfort when he didn’t find anything. At least then he could have done something about it, close up the holes or smash the cameras. He spent a lot of time at the gym, quality time with the punching bag, pretending that creep was in there. It was the only thing that helped him keep some imitation of sanity, pretending he was beating the crap out of the guy, all his demons, still being watched, punching nonstop, sometimes without gloves.

 

The others pretended they didn’t notice his bruised knuckles or the way he walked around trying to unclench his fists. The way he ignored the looks and focused too hard on the monitors, the way he stared at cotton swabs and test tubes and his mind was obviously not where his eyes were. The way he got defensive when someone accidentally touched him. Of those pretending not to notice Nick was pretty sure Grissom actually didn’t notice, and he was on the edge of not caring and wanting to make him notice. Do something to get his attention, make sure the guy was really human.

 

After a few weeks Nick tried to get back to normal. The guys upstairs were breathing down his neck with not-so-subtle hints that it was time for him to start getting over it before it affected the job more than it was. Apparently the time allowed for post-traumatic stress disorder was up. He played along, not wanting to get fired, but he wanted to go show them tapes of themselves eating dinner with their families and shitting on the toilet and say “Big brother is watching, how does that make you feel?” and see how long it took them to get over knowing someone was watching every single thing they did.

 

***

 

“Grissom calls you Nicky.”

 

“Yeah.” Nick answered in a neutral voice, noncommittal, but something rolled around in the back of his head, the way Warrick was looking at him and looking away. It was like he was trying to decide whether to say what he wanted to say. Nick just focused on the screen in front of him, waited for Warrick to continue or not, waited for IAFIS to get him a match.

 

“There something going on between you two?” He said it too casually, the way you say something when you’ve been waiting to work it into a conversation but keep missing the opportunity and decide to just come out with it. And usually Nick would just laugh and say I’m not gay, man, but something stopped him from saying it, and he just stared at the screen, trying to decide what to say to that. The way Warrick asked reminded him too much of the time Sara’d asked if he was interested in Catherine, and he’d known Sara wanted to know if he was free to go out with her. He didn’t think that’s what Warrick was doing but it sounded like Warrick was trying to figure out if he was gay but he didn’t think Warrick was gay. Stop analyzing everything.

 

“Nah,” he said finally, casually too, and Warrick looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed, and then he was uncomfortable but Warrick was more uncomfortable so he tried to lighten the mood by laughing and saying “He’s too old for me.” And Warrick finally returned his grin but they were still uncomfortable.

 

Some kind of alarm tripped off in his head. It was too quiet. IAFIS was blinking at him and that was when he heard Nigel’s voice. I can see you, it said, I can see everything you do. Flashes of the masking tape over the holes, “living room”, “kitchen”, “bedroom” and he started feeling sick.

 

Warrick watched Nick change for a couple seconds before he knew what was going on. Nick wasn’t looking at the computer anymore but down at the keyboard, and he was breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, and his hands clutched the edges of the desk. He didn’t have any time to react when Nick jumped to his feet and threw his chair across the room and Warrick flinched and stood up, went to try and settle him down. Nick started yelling.

“You fucking bastard, get out of my head!” And the next thing he knew his fist went through the screen and Grissom was there, like he didn’t know what to do, and Catherine was outside motioning for Greg to stay in the lab. “Relax, Nicky, it’s okay” Gris was saying, trying to calm him down, Warrick was yelling for a first aid kit and Nick heard the words “panic attack”. It was like being a kid again, his parents not believing him, thinking he was making it up for attention.

 

He stared at his fist. The skin, stretched so taut and white, little shards of glass inside. If he flexed his hand the pieces of glass moved up and down in his flesh, little spurts of blood. It was perverse but it felt good, to feel the pain, to feel something besides paranoia again. You look around waiting for something bad to happen, then it does and the pain feels good, you want more. He reached out his other hand to pick up a piece of shattered glass, ran his finger along the sharp edge, line of blood like a papercut.

 

Gris was talking to him, trying to take the glass away from him. Nick made like he was going to fight, but then handed it over with a crazy look in his eyes. “He’s watching you too.”

 

Then it was over. Grissom didn’t say anything as he wrapped Nick’s hand and told Warrick to drive him to the ER. The chaotic voices were comforting and Nick settled back against the headrest, closing his eyes and smiling a little. The stitches hurt when they got put in. He wouldn’t let them give him any anesthesia because he wanted to feel it, and since it was just his hand no one argued too much.

 

Grissom got paged and had to go back to the lab, but Warrick’s shift was over and he stayed with Nick until he was released.

 

“Need a ride?” Nick looked up. He did need a ride, but that would mean he’d have to tell Warrick he wasn’t living at home anymore. He debated getting a cab, but Warrick was his friend, he wouldn’t think Nick was a coward because he couldn’t stay in that house any more. So he accepted Warrick’s offer.

 

Warrick didn’t seem too surprised when Nick gave him the new address. They didn’t say anything on the way.

 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

 

Warrick smiled at him as he opened the car door. “What are friends for?”

 

“Actually…” Nick had one foot out the door, one still in the car. “You want to come in for a minute?” Because Nick really doesn’t want to be alone right now. Warrick looks unsure, so Nick continues, “I could really use the company.” He sees how scared Nick is and curses himself as he follows Nick into the apartment building. This is not good, he thinks, there is no way this can be good.

 

“Want a beer?” Nick called from the kitchen, after putting the prescription he’d been given in the back of the cabinet. No way was he going to dull the pain, his mind, the way he had the time after Nigel put him in the hospital. Just settling down trying to stop the pain, the next thing he knows Nigel is in his fucking house, pointing his own gun at his head, and Nick is too groggy for his reflexes to kick in. It isn’t going to happen again.

 

Warrick doesn’t want a beer either so Nick gets some Pepsi from the fridge. His hand still hurts and it’s still good. They don’t talk, again, just stare at the tv, not sure what they’re watching. Warrick can’t help but notice how Nick’s eyes keep flitting up to the ceiling, the way he pushes his fingers into the stitches like he’s trying to keep the pain there. He puts up with that for about two minutes, and gently reaches over to pull Nick’s hand away from the injury. “Chill out, man. That’s not going to help.”

 

Nick snaps at him. “How the hell would you know?” And he pulls his hand away from Warrick’s because he’s scared, because he was feeling like he would die if he didn’t feel the pain anymore, and then Warrick’s hand felt good on his, and he wanted to hang onto that hand forever, and that’s not how you’re supposed to feel when a guy just touches your hand. Especially when you’re a guy.

 

Nick brings his Pepsi can back to the kitchen even though it’s not empty. He’s not paying attention and tosses it in the trash instead of the bag he keeps for the stuff he recycles. Deep breath. He squeezes his hand into a fist and feels the stitches stretch his skin. He makes himself busy by getting a glass from the cabinet and sees the pills in the back. No. No pills. Don’t even think about it. Ice. He gets ice from the freezer, distracted by the familiar clink of ice into the glass, glass in his hands, stitches in his hands.

 

Effervescent fizz of the soda when he pops it open. Closes his eyes, thinks of his gun. Comforting and cold in his hand, thumb pulls back the hammer, indentation in his skin. Click. Squeeze the trigger, tighter, heat in his hands, bullet across the shooting range to the target and it’s Nigel, not dying, laughing at him and he’s yelling because he can’t get Nigel Crane out of his head.

 

Glass breaking again when he drops it on the floor, glass mixed with ice cubes and Warrick’s in the kitchen, pushing him into a chair, cleaning up the shards. Double-bags the trash so the glass can’t hurt anyone else and puts it outside Nick’s door, doesn’t know what to say and Nick is not going to cry, he never cries but there are tears on his face. And Warrick wants to comfort him but doesn’t want to make him freak out again so he just stands there in the doorway while Nick doesn’t cry.

 

Warrick waits until Nick is under control again, then sits across from him at the table. He asks if it’s happened before and Nick knows what he’s talking about.

 

“The first day I went back to my house. I thought I was going crazy. The walls were closing in on me and I couldn’t breathe and I just started hitting stuff. The first thing I broke was the cable box.” He still can’t laugh about it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to.

 

“Have you seen anyone?”

 

“What, a shrink? No way. I can solve my own problems.” Warrick doesn’t say anything because Nick won’t want to listen to what he has to say. “Have you?” That makes Warrick laugh.

 

“Not by choice.”

 

“Rehab?”

 

“Yeah.” He looks at Nick; maybe he will listen. “It can help.” Nick doesn’t look convinced and Warrick isn’t surprised.

 

“You still want to gamble.”

 

Warrick thinks it’s a trick question but he answers anyway. “Yeah.”

 

“Not much help, then.”

 

“Well, it is good to know you’re not the only one with a problem.” Then he realizes that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. He can read Nick’s face. Warrick doesn’t know the statistics, but he’s pretty sure that gambling addiction is more common than having a stalker hide out in your attic with the ultimate goal of killing you so he can become you. At least that was Grissom’s theory. He has a hard time buying it.

 

“I have a problem?” Mock surprise on his face and Warrick relaxes. Phone rings and Nick lets the machine get it. The message is a generic one, not even Nick’s voice.

 

“Nicky? We just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. Listen, you don’t have to come in tonight if –“

 

“Gris?” Nick picks up and the machine clicks off. “Yeah. How’d you know where to reach me?” Nods a little, looks at his feet. “Oh… I don’t know. I don’t want to be in the way, but I think I’ll go nuts if I stay here.” Wraps the cord around the fingers on his good hand. “I guess… No. Gris, I don’t want to. Okay? Look, I’ll be there tonight.” Stares at the time display on the microwave. “Fine. I gotta get some sleep. See ya.” Hangs up, keeps his hand on the phone. Forgets that Warrick’s there until there’s a hand on his shoulder. Moves away.

 

“Gris’s been trying to call you. You should check your cell.” Nick leaves the room and goes to wash up. Warrick just stands there, not sure what he’s supposed to do now. Does Nick want him to stay? Well, he’s going to, because Nick’s car is still at work and he’ll have to come back to pick him up anyway.

 

Turns out Nick wasn’t really going to sleep right away, it was just a line to get Gil off the phone. Eventually he does decide to go to sleep and tells Warrick he can watch tv if he wants, and Warrick falls asleep on the couch. He’s not going anywhere in case Nick freaks out again or decides to hurt himself. Because Warrick saw the look on his face when he picked up the piece of glass in the computer lab. Because he knows what a rush pain can be when you’ve lost control of everything else.

 

Nick’s alarm goes off and it’s dark outside now. Time for work. Warrick slept in his clothes and he goes to splash some water on his face and Nick is in there, staring at himself in the mirror, holding up the razor blade like he can’t decide whether to shave or cut himself. Warrick knows what’s in his mind, wondering how it would feel to draw it across his throat, gentle slices. Hesitation marks, he thinks, there are always a few hesitation marks before they slash their wrists, that’s how you tell if it’s suicide or murder and it kills him to know that Nick is even thinking about it.

 

“Hey.” That’s all it takes to get him to snap out of the trance.

 

“Hey yourself.” Their eyes meet in the mirror and Nick is scared to death of himself. So many possibilities. Cut, slash, smash, break, bleed. He remembers simulation, the suits they had to wear. Bullet-proof vests, heavy lead and drawing his gun before turning the corner. That’s what he feels like now, has felt like since Nigel came crashing through his ceiling and nowhere is safe.

 

Somehow they make it back to the station without another episode. Only now Nick wants everyone to go back to not looking at him. No such luck. Straight to Grissom’s office.

 

“Hey Gris.” Grissom turns around and Nick hates what he sees. Usually he’d be amazed to find emotion on Gil’s face but this is not the emotion he wants to see. Guilt. He sees past him onto the table and knows what the folder is before he snatches it up.

 

“What are you doing with my file?” Grissom tries to take it away, tell him not to worry about it, but Nick is already reading it. Blood rushes to his head and Grissom can see him getting angry. “What is this about? I am not a goddamn health risk!”

 

“Nick, you smashed your hand through a computer monitor last night.” He’s so calm, Nick thinks. How can he be so calm? He’s fucking citing the facts like it’s a crime scene. It’s always like this with Grissom, analyze the evidence and then make a decision. No goddamn how are you feeling Nick? How is your hand?

 

“You need to do something about this. Do you know how much an IAFIS computer costs? Do you know that the insurance didn’t want to pay your ER bills last night, so I had to take it out of my own pocket until I can convince them there was no malicious intent? That when I tried to explain it away as a job hazard they said they couldn’t take care of it unless you saw someone? It’s called responsibility, Nick. If you can’t handle it, take some time off. Go talk to someone. Anything. But you can’t keep doing this.”

 

That was the longest speech he’d ever heard Grissom make and it didn’t matter. All he heard was money and shrinks and take care of your shit somewhere else.

 

“You think I’m doing this on purpose? You think I like it? I’m trying, Gris, and all you care about is reading me my rights. If I’m fired tell me and I’ll get my stuff and go. Just like that. But if I’m not, give me a fucking break and be my friend for once.”

 

This time he did slam the door and it felt good. He stormed off to the break room even though he heard Catherine calling a meeting. He shut himself in, locked the door, leaned against the wall.

 

“Um.” Sara. Shit.

 

“Whatcha reading?” Attempted to act casual. The smirk was enough to convince him it didn’t work.

 

“American Journal of Physics.” Her voice was flat. “What are you running away from?”

 

“Grissom.”

 

“Ah.” She closed the journal after watching him for a minute. “Meeting. You coming?” She held the door for him and he hesitated for a second, then shook his head. Sara shrugged and left the room. He sat there for a few minutes, grateful for the chance to be alone in a place where he felt safe. Just a moment, that’s all he needed. Just a quiet moment.

 

Nick was on the clock, though, and he went to the meeting. He had a hard time paying attention. No one seemed to expect anything from him so it was okay. He took the time to think, and started to feel bad about the way he’d blown up at Grissom.

 

“Nick.” Grissom approached him when the meeting was over. Nick couldn’t tell if he was mad.

 

“Gris, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded like that.”

 

“I’m sorry too.” Hesitation. “Nick, you’ve been acting out a lot and I can understand why. But this behavior is not appropriate and you have to do something about it.” He held up a hand before Nick could argue. “You don’t have to see a therapist if you don’t want to. But if you ever need to talk about it or if you need advice, you can always come to me. There are techniques you can use to help the panic attacks.”

 

Pause. “I’ll pay you back for the ER.”

 

“No you won’t.” Grissom put his hands on both of Nick’s shoulders. “All I want is for you to get better. I can’t lose my best CSI.”

 

“Thanks.” Nick flexed his hand. “You know, I wish I’d brought those pills now.”

 

Gil laughed. “Go get something from the first aid kit. Then get to the lab. You’re stuck with Greg tonight.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” he said, smiling so Gris would know they were cool.

 

***

 

 

It was a long night. At first Greg didn’t know what to say, but by morning they were joking around almost like old times. There were still moments when Nick would start staring off into space or Greg would say something that didn’t seem right, but it was better. Around four, when normal people (that is, non-CSIs) were asleep, he finished his shift and went to Gil’s office.

 

“Night,” he said, and Gil looked up from a petri dish. “Night, Nick. Check in later so I know you got in alright?”

 

“Yeah.” He looked back. “Thanks again, Gris.” Grissom just smiled, and went back to his bugs.

 

***

 

It was after noon when the phone rang and woke him up. He let the machine get it, then picked up when he heard Warrick’s voice.

 

“Warrick.”

 

“Nick. You doing alright?”

 

“Yeah, I talked to Gris. His trivia came in handy for once.”

 

Laugh. “It’s not trivia if it’s useful.”

 

“Whatever.” Pause. “You wanna come keep me company?”

 

“Gil’s not available?”

 

Oh. That was a joke. “That was funny, Brown. So are you coming over or what?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think I want to clean up any more broken glass.”

 

Was it just Nick or were they flirting? The thought automatically made him feel uneasy. Relax, Nicky. It’s just Warrick. “I don’t blame you. It’s not much fun for me either.”

 

“I bet.”

 

“I thought you weren’t gambling anymore.”

 

“Now who’s being funny?”

 

“Hey, just tellin it like it is.”

 

Chuckle. “Fine. See you in a few.” Shit. Nick didn’t think Warrick would actually accept his invitation. Now he wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

 

Nick gets dressed quickly, the whole time grimacing from the soreness in his hand. He finally gives in, gets the pain pills from the back of the cabinet. Calls Grissom to check in, the guy’s actually still at work. When does he sleep? He’s probably one of those people who lives on three hours of sleep a day.

 

“Picked up your mail.”

 

Nick goes into the living room, carrying a plate of cold pizza. “Man, don’t you knock?”

 

“I did. You didn’t come out.” Puts the mail on the coffee table while Nick tries to figure out if there’s a pun intended. “Grissom wants you to call him.”

 

“I just got off the phone with him.” Sifts through the mail, nothing important. “Pizza?”

 

“Sure.” They eat and watch tv, and it’s kind of awkward because Nick is thinking about all the remarks about Grissom and the way Warrick is doing stuff for him. Warrick doesn’t say much, sits a little too close, and Nick’s not sure if Warrick sat that close to him before.

 

“Are you gay?” He says it without planning to. Warrick is a little surprised but doesn’t look offended. He nods. “Is that a problem?”

 

“You don’t see me running away, do you?” Nervous laugh.

 

“No… I guess that’s a good sign.”

 

“Yeah.” That was easier then he’d thought, but now he feels weird. Like he should say something else but doesn’t know what. Warrick is gay. He just needs a few minutes to get used to that. Probably more, even though it’s not like he would’ve asked if he didn’t already think it. “So…?”

 

Warrick puts down the paper plate. “Do you want to talk about it? Or something else?”

 

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know.” A million questions. “Have you been flirting with me?”

 

“Maybe.” Smile.

 

“You’re flirting with me now, aren’t you.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You’re a shitty friend, you know that?” But he’s smiling.

 

“Yeah.” Warrick thinks Nick is okay with it but probably not ready for what else he wants to say, so he changes the subject. “So are you gonna ask Grissom for a field assignment tonight or stay in the labs again?”

 

Nick considers. “I haven’t thought about it. I would think he’d want to keep me away from expensive equipment.” They both laugh. “Although I haven’t broken anything since yesterday. Twenty-four hours and counting.”

 

“It’s a record.” They’re grinning at each other and Nick seems pretty comfortable so Warrick decides to go for it. He moves his face right up next to Nick’s and stops short of kissing him, asking with his eyes if it’s okay. Nick looks a little scared and swallows but he gives a tiny nod and Warrick just barely touches their lips together, then pulls away. Waiting for Nick to smile, yell at him, something.

 

“Greg can be really annoying.” Okay, that works too. At least he’s not bolting.

 

“You’re just now figuring that out?” It’s so comfortable that Warrick actually wonders if he just imagined the kiss. Not much of a kiss but it was a start.

 

“It’s kind of emphasized when you spend eight hours in a lab with him.”

 

“No shit. Glad it was you and not me.”

 

“I’m gonna tell Greg you said that.”

 

“Go ahead. It’s you he idolizes, not me. Probably be glad if he knew he annoyed me.”

 

Nick can’t help laughing and wondering again if they’re flirting, and if they are, why he doesn’t care. Needs to think, picks up their plates to throw them out, stays in the kitchen. Glad Warrick doesn’t follow him.

 

The thing is, Nick’s pretty sure he should be freaked out by this. Not only is Warrick a guy but he’s black too. Not that Nicky’s racist or anything, but his parents are and so is half of Texas. Okay, maybe more than half, but he’s in Vegas now, right? Maybe if Warrick didn’t grow up in Vegas he wouldn’t have a gambling problem.

 

Nick’s starting to get a headache. His best guy friend just kissed him and he’s thinking about geography. He has to ask himself, is it really not a big deal or is he totally in denial? He remembers the way he wanted Warrick to keep holding his hand yesterday. That freaked him out but this didn’t. He wonders how long Warrick has wanted to kiss him.

 

He gets a couple beers and brings them to the living room, hands one to Warrick. Stands there, looking at the couch, the chair. It’s decision time and he knows it’s important. Warrick’s pretending to watch the tv but Nick can tell he’s waiting. Waiting for Nick to choose.

 

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thinks. Sets his beer on the table and sits on the couch, beside Warrick. He can feel Warrick let out his breath. They sit for a while.

 

“Nick?” Warrick sounds different.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You think… you wanna try this?”

 

Lack of clarity doesn’t work for Nick. He clears his throat. “What-”

 

“I’m asking you out, Nick.”

 

Nick shakes his head right away. “I wouldn’t be against you kissing me again, but I’m not about to make it public. I don’t even know if I’m gay.”

 

Warrick almost manages to stifle his laughter. Almost.

 

“Are you laughing at me?”

 

“Nick.”

 

“What?” Warily.

 

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

 

“Oh.” Warrick puts his hands on Nick’s shoulders, leans in again and kisses him. At first Nick just sits there. Then he closes his eyes and pushes his lips into Warrick’s. He can feel Warrick’s teeth through his lips. Feels Warrick’s mouth open over his, it’s warm and it feels good. Nick hasn’t kissed anyone since Kristy.

 

Dammit.

 

“What’s wrong?” Warrick tries to get Nick to look at him.

 

“I was just thinking about Kristy.”

 

Kristy. At first the name doesn’t mean anything to him, but then he remembers. That was a good example of bad judgment. Even though she was going to turn her life around, Nick shouldn’t have slept with her. But he did, and the next day he was the primary suspect in her murder. The team had gone through hell to clear him.

 

“You really have bad luck.” Not sure if he’s trying to lighten the moment or keep it dark. Nick smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing you have the gambling addiction and not me then.”

 

“This is the most depressing conversation I’ve ever had while kissing a guy.”

 

There it is, Nick’s smiling for real now. “This is the only conversation I’ve ever had while kissing a guy.”

 

“So you’re not going to freak out on me?” Warrick is rubbing his thumbs over Nick’s collar bone.

 

“No.” He proves it by kissing Warrick, soft at first. Warrick moves his hands up Nick’s neck to come to rest on his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he took a kiss so slow, but then again, he hasn’t kissed a straight guy before. But Nick’s straightness is becoming considerably questionable, given the way he’s kissing him. He can feel all the blood rushing to his groin and it’s time to stop this.

 

He moves away but keeps his hands on Nick’s face. Nick slowly opens his eyes to look at Warrick. “You okay?” and Nick nods. Takes a deep breath and turns so he’s sitting on the couch like usual, except Warrick’s hand is on his shoulder. Moves closer, Warrick gets the hint and puts his arm around Nick’s shoulders.

 

Nick feels a little foolish when he rests his head on Warrick’s shoulder and tries not to think about it. It’s comforting, actually, and Nick tries to focus on that instead of everything he’s been taught about how wrong this is. How you’re not supposed to do something just because it feels good. How there are enforcable sodomy laws in Texas. How his own father is a judge on the Texas Supreme Court and he’d come home telling Nicky and the rest of the family over dinner about the fags he convicted today.

 

Nicky, Nicky, Nicky, didn’t you learn your lesson from Kristy? It never pays to go with your feelings. Not that this line of thought makes him any less confused because as of a few days ago Nick wasn’t aware of any feelings, not like this.

 

Even though this is brand new to him, Nick can’t deny that it does feel good. And not good like as opposed to bad, but good like it’s this rush and he wants to do it again, like skydiving.

 

It’s this struggle between thinking he shouldn’t have let Warrick kiss him and how a kiss is nothing compared to what Warrick’s probably already done. Between letting it go too far and not far enough. Right and wrong, victim and suspect, opposite ends of the spectrum, claustrophobic paranoia.

 

For once Nick recognizes the turn his thoughts are taking and tries to remember what Gil told him. Tries to control the panic that’s threatening his peace of mind, wonders why this happens every time something new happens with Warrick. Puts one and two together and he suddenly gets it. Turning into Grissom, Nicky is, analyzing the evidence and concluding cause and effect, actions and consequences.

 

Panic subsides into uncomfortable understanding. One fear replaced with another. Relief doesn’t come, because somehow being physically attracted to his best friend is as frightening as being stalked. In a completely different way.

 

Warrick is dealing with another riddle. That being mainly his surprise at how receptive Nick’s been. He’d actually gotten the impression that Nick was homophobic, the way he’s always insisting he’s a lady’s man. So yes, the fact that Nick returned his kiss was surprising, if not disappointing. Nope, not disappointing at all.

 

Eventually Nick gets up and finds his latest issue of the Journal of Forensic Science. He’s gotten behind on the advances in hair and fiber analysis this month and now’s as good a time as any to start catching up. Especially considering he has no idea what he’s supposed to say to Warrick now.

 

As soon as he realizes Nick’s not going to talk about it, Warrick wanders into the kitchen and gets another beer. Highly disturbed that the contents of Nick’s fridge consist of just beer and soft drinks, the freezer has boxes and boxes of what he soon figures out are tv dinners. Returns to the couch and stares until Nick finally looks at him.

 

“What?” Unconcerned, doesn’t bother to put the journal down or make any attempt to seem like he wants to talk about anything.

 

“How long have you been living on Swanson?”

 

Nick shrugs, sighs – relief? – and looks down at the journal again. “How long ago did we arrest Crane?” Can’t help but resent Warrick for making him think of that creep again. Pretends to read, hopes Warrick gets a clue and leaves him alone.

 

“Well I’m not having frozen pizza again. Field work actually requires some effort.”

 

“Excuse me?” Now Nick gives up pretending to read and stares at Warrick. “Is that a dig about how I spent last night in the lab? How I’m not doing any work?” Warrick opens his mouth to speak but Nick cuts him off. “I’m sorry if I didn’t rush over to the crime scene with Gil last night, Warrick.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Take a guess, teacher’s pet. And by the way, I know I don’t have a degree in rehabilitating addicts, but I think if you’re trying to stop gambling, you might want to avoid casinos.”

 

“No, excuse me, Einstein,” Warrick says, not understanding why Nick’s trying to twist his words when he didn’t mean anything by it to begin with, “but in case you forgot, we work in fucking Vegas. Half our scenes are in casinos and that’s on a good night. And if you’d take a minute to think about it, you’d remember that most of my gambling addiction is in the sports arena, not at the tables.”

 

Nick mumbles something and stands up. “I’m not having this conversation. If you want something to eat get it yourself. You can’t expect me to be all moved in. It’s not like this is permanent.”

 

“You do realize you’re turning into Donna Marks.” He’s glad they’re not going to have this fight.

 

“Who?” Nick is genuinely confused. He doesn’t usually remember the vics’ names after the case is over.

 

“As in Donna and Joan Marks? Sisters found in a pipe? As Grissom so poetically put it, wildflower and wallflower? Donna had the Sara complex.”

 

Nick’s starting to remember the case and doesn’t like the analogy. “Donna secluded herself from everyone, lived at her computer. I’m not agoraphobic, Warrick.”

 

“No, but your freezer full of frozen dinners is a dead ringer for her collection of takeout.” Warrick levels a look at Nick that says, don’t even try to deny it. “You’ve stopped talking to everyone but me and Grissom. Sara said she tried to talk to you and you wouldn’t give her the time of day.”

 

“Hey, that was a bad day. Gris was giving me shit about –”

 

“It was last night, Nick. And that’s not the only example. Catherine’s worried about you.”

 

“Catherine’s not my mother and she can stop acting like she is.” Nick gets a tv dinner, and his look dares Warrick to say anything. Warrick puts up his hands, defensive except for his smile, backs away. By the time Nick’s done at the microwave, Warrick is gone, and he’s too tired to care.

 

An hour later Nick wakes up to find Warrick in the kitchen, paper bags on the table. “What the hell is this?” Not mad, just not what he expected to see. Notices Warrick throwing away all his tv dinners. “What are doing?”

 

“You said if I wanted food I could get it for myself, so I did.”

 

“I meant for yourself, not… what is this, broccoli? I haven’t had broccoli since I was ten.”

 

“You’re kidding.” To Nick’s amusement, Warrick actually looks like he hopes Nick is kidding.

 

“Nope. My parents stopped forcing greens on me when they figured out I’d been sneaking it to the dog.” He grins as he helps Warrick put some of the stuff away, not bothering to ask how much it cost because Warrick’ll never let him pay him back. “What are you, a health buff or something?”

 

Warrick laughs. “I don’t have great metabolism like you, Stokes. I actually have to work to look this good.”

 

Nick stiffens. They’ve just entered some dangerous territory he doesn’t want to explore. In lieu of ignoring the remark, his only option is… Nick feels himself blushing when he realizes he’s staring at Warrick’s body, thinking how true it is that Warrick does look good, and leaves the room in a hurry when his pants get tighter and he has a boner from looking at Warrick. It’s enough to make him panic if he stops to analyze it.

 

Locks himself in the bathroom, strips and steps into the shower. The cold water doesn’t help and Nick is absolutely mortified. Please don’t let this be happening. Has it been so long since he had sex that he responds to anyone who shows interest? He must have been thinking of a girl, right? Because he can’t be turned on by Warrick. Just because Warrick kissed him doesn’t mean he’s gay.

 

But he can’t think of a girl he would’ve been thinking of. Wasn’t thinking of Kristy, that’s just morbid. Couldn’t be Laura. The only image of her he can summon is her bending over the toilet after she got wasted at the prom. Sara? He used to have a crush on her until he figured out she’s in love with Gil’s Amazing Brain. And Catherine… well, she’s like an overprotective sister. Nick was never attracted to her. Which means the only person to blame for his unwanted erection is Warrick.

 

Nick tries not to think of him as he jerks off in the shower, but it’s not happening. It’s even worse when he closes his eyes and sees his face, remembers what it felt like when he kissed him. Fuck. He doesn’t want this. His body obviously wants it but he doesn’t. Why did you have to say anything? Tries to forget that he was the one who brought it up in the first place. He was the one who let Warrick kiss him, who kissed Warrick back. He’s the one jacking himself off, while Warrick’s in the kitchen, and unless he’s deaf, hears Nick taking a shower and knows what he’s doing.

 

Oh shitoshitoshit.

 

Maybe Warrick’ll think he’s just getting ready for work. Sure, Nicky, whatever you say. And maybe Greg will stop acting like a college student and start taking his work seriously. Right.

 

Well, at least that took care of his hard-on. Something to remember when he gets turned on again. Nick uses the rest of the shower for its intended purpose, so at least he’s clean when he does go to work. Dresses slowly, wondering how he’s going to look at Warrick now. Looks in the mirror and his face is still flushed, it’s too obvious what he’s been doing, been thinking. What he’s still thinking. Greg. Think about Greg.

 

Funny how the thought of Warrick makes him hard and the thought of any other guy stops that feeling right away. That’s hopeful. He hopes.

 

Warrick’s making himself a sandwich when Nick is brave enough to return to the kitchen. “There you are.” Don’t ask me where I was. “Do you like mustard?”

 

“Um…” Warrick has apparently finished his own sandwich. “What’s it on?”

 

“Turkey.”

 

Nick makes a face. “God no. Did you get anything besides turkey?” They debate the merits of deli meat and white versus wheat bread and it’s almost casual, but Nick can tell Warrick’s enjoying this too much. Warrick keeps glancing at him and he’s pretty sure the guy wants to kiss him again.

 

They eat, and Nick talks about Greg’s newest extracurriculars. “Still a wannabe,” Warrick comments, and Nick can’t disagree. “He’s determined to get field experience. Threatened to go with me if an emergency came up and I had to leave the lab.”

 

“Grissom would’ve loved that.”

 

“Can’t stop him now though, he applied for Level One.”

 

Warrick snorts. “He doesn’t have enough hours. I hope he knows to expect another rejection letter.”

 

“I’m sure he does. Greg’s not stupid. How many times did you apply before you were a CSI?”

 

“One, thank you very much. Got my driver’s license the first time too.”

 

“Aren’t you special.” He says it with just enough sarcasm that it’s bitter. Warrick decides to go easy on him and not ask how many tries it took Nick.

 

“So spill it, Nick. Field or lab?”

 

“Whatever Grissom assigns me to.” Doesn’t bother to mention this is the third time Warrick’s asked him about it. “Speaking of which, we’d better get going.”

 

“Yeah. Carpool?”

 

“Might as well,” Nick says, even though he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea. It means Warrick will have to drive him back in the morning, and who knows what could lead to.


End file.
